


The Right Word to Describe It

by Morningstarofnight



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, First Day of School, Gen, One Shot, Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morningstarofnight/pseuds/Morningstarofnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abraham goes off to school for the first time, and Abigail and Henry worry about how to tell their son Henry's secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Word to Describe It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [manypastfrustrations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manypastfrustrations/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy!

Children tend to think their parents are immortal. They generally aren't proven right.

"Abraham!" Henry called through his son's door. "You mustn't be late." He patted at his pockets, as if the fabric was in need of calming. Through the window of the little apartment, the dawn sun shone with all of the hopes and dreams and tiny fervent pleas of parents shepherding their young children off to school for the first time. They prayed that the bus would arrive, that the day would go well, that their child would get _off_ the bus at the correct stop at day's end. Henry's own schooling had been...well, different. A little. His father's private tutors, the lessons in Latin and French and German. Remarkably few worries about school buses. Perhaps the late 18th century date had something to do with that.

" _Henry_ , you're rambling." Abigail's voice, a loving, reproachful hand on his shoulder.

"I am not."

"Are too, I can see it in your eyes. He'll be fine, he isn't even out the door yet."

"Yes! Exactly! He isn't even out the door yet." Henry waved a hand vaguely at Abe's room, from which the young boy had just emerged. Abe had a small satchel slung over his shoulder, carrying his lunch and a new set of pencils.

He scrubbed a hand at his eyes and gave a somewhat convincing yawn. "Why must it be so early?" he said, but was betrayed by his excited smile.

His mother laughed. "Because that's school. Now go! The bus is here!" Before Abe could make it to the door, she scooped him into a hug. "Be good, your father and I will be waiting."

Henry also responded with his own hug, and then the front door was open and the child was running, satchel bouncing at his side. The bus, shiny new and yellow, squatted in the road like a fat caterpillar. Once Abe was aboard, it rolled away from the curb and puttered off into the distance.

The front door to the Morgan house closed. Henry was struck with a sudden, clenching fear. "We should tell him."

Abigail moved to his side. She leaned against him, one hand over his heart. The heart she had seen fail, once. "It's all right, Henry." Nothing more.

*  *  *

_When she saw him standing over Abe's cradle, she knew all of it -- the doctor on the battlefield, the love, the knife in the dark -- it wasn't a dream. It wasn't a cruel, strange dream._

_She drew closer, and saw the way he stood helplessly, alive again by some miracle -- no. He had been saying goodbye to Abe. To her. He would have died in the street from his pride and love of her,_ should _have died. No, not a miracle at all._

_"You poor man," she breathed. And in that instant, God only knows how many years' worth of fear and pain melted off his face._

*  *  *

Henry returned the gesture, leaning wearily against her. "But shouldn't we wait until he's older -- to understand, to..."

"There's no understanding this, my love. What will you do? Paint gray into your hair, draw wrinkles on your face, hide the truth from him that as we both grow older you stay the same? No, Henry. You said we need to tell him. That's what we'll do."

"But how? I can't rightly say, 'oh, by the by, Abraham, I'm immortal!' And, well, _dying_ in front of him, at this age? He shouldn't see that."

"It needs to be said." Abigail pressed her hand against his chest. "One way or another."

*  *  *

Of course neither of them had actually meant _that_ way, but two centuries of being the lonely loophole of the cycle of life had made Henry rather careless.

And, well, knives are rather slippery little devils when you're trying to prepare a fish for the evening meal. Abigail gave a little scream out of reactionary instinct, but quickly caught herself as her husband lay bleeding out on the floor and rushed to his side.

Of course, because that is how these sorts of situations work, Abe opened the door just in time to see --

" _Really_ , Henry, how it even ended up in your chest in the first place -- "

"I did not...do this...on purpose...I swear," Henry managed, and sighed, and vanished. Abe froze in the hallway, eyes wide.

Abigail stood, walking straight over where Henry had been not five seconds previously and wrapped her arm around Abe's shoulders. "Please don't be afraid, Abraham. Your father's life is a little different than most. Sit down now...it's a long story."

*  *  *

_"Then start from the beginning."_

_"I...was born on the 19th of September, 1779. I lived. I died. But it...it didn't stick. I don't know why. I've spent so long trying to figure it out, and the longer time stretches the more I fear there will be no answer. Only -- lucky you!" His laugh was still afraid, still certain that any second, she would no longer be there supporting him._

_"It's all right. Keep talking."_

*  *  *

Abigail set the table for three, and they waited a few moments. Eventually, the door clicked softly open to reveal Henry, dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and mismatched pants. Abigail's heart twisted. He had the same wary, uncertain look in his eyes as he waited for Abe's response.

Abe got up and walked over. He poked at Henry's chest experimentally. Then, in complete silence, the six-year-old looked up and nodded solemnly, as if he had expected nothing less from a Father.

*  *  *

_"Don't mind him, he's seen blood before," Henry told the jazz musician._


End file.
